


Another Week Till The End of the World

by Whirlibirb (Draikinator)



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Kris is Chara, Lore theory, POV Second Person, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 10:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17078651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draikinator/pseuds/Whirlibirb
Summary: What is today, but yesterday's tomorrow.





	Another Week Till The End of the World

You lean in to the glass and use your breath to cast a warm fog against it, fingers cold against it's surface. You draw back, and draw carefully with one index finger a simple shape, a circle. You give it a big smile and two horns, then two floppy ears, and stare it, as the surrounding warmth begins to blurr the clear lines of the picture, making it pale and wobbly.

You wipe it away with your sleeve and sit back in the booth, warming the palms of your hands on the mug of hot cocoa you were given. Asriel isn't coming home. Not next week. Not ever.

You listen to the clink of glasses and forks on plates, the full drone of an old song in the background. Chatter. Life.

Tomorrow everything will be okay again, like it always is. You go to school, and mom makes you a pie, and Asriel is coming home next week. You were never particularly creative. One good day, it's all you ever wanted, and here it is.

One good day, again, and again, and again.

Until today. Today was a different day, in a different world. It wasn't right. You should have known things couldn't be okay forever. You couldn't make a world where you were happy for long. No one could.

A child drops a glass and a waitress and her family work together to clean it up, laughing. The jukebox rolls into another song. You take a sip of your cocoa. It tastes like real memories, ones you didn't make up, like a home you're a fool to long for, because they were better off without you.

It tastes like nesquik. 

You lean your temple against the cool glass and feel it chill your skin. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the warmth of your body beginning to fog the glass where you're touching it, but past that, outside, you see cars driving by with people you know inside of them. This world is good. This world is kind. This world is everything you ever wanted, something you made from scratch so carefully and precisely you could never have done it twice. When you're sitting here like this, looking out at it through foggy glass, with hot cocoa in your hands and your brother coming home in a week, it almost, for a moment, feels real.


End file.
